


of gods and monsters

by wearethewitches



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Avengers Tower, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Genderbending, Genderfluid Character, Infinity Gems, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Shapeshifting, Slime, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Various MCU snippets, some crossovers.





	1. #too many starklings to count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: mention of child death and other norse-mythology appropriate violence.

“Holy _shit-_ ”

Tony is definitely looking into Asgardian compensation. Swerving to avoid the giant flaming slimeball – courtesy of Loki and the Slime, Loki being the far more benevolent enemy, yet also causing them so much more trouble by using the Slime against them – Tony wonders if King Odin would feel up to sending, oh, half a dozen of his fancy warriors down to work full-time as a Loki Clean-Up Crew. FRIDAY brings up a small panel inside the suit, showing how the afire slimeball hits the glass window of a small business that hasn’t had the chance to install their prepaid SI insurance blinds, sticking to it and melting the glass to sludge, fire going out shortly as Loki summons the living flame to yet another slimeball.

“This is getting out of hand,” Tony mutters.

“ _Yeah, no shit,_ ” Clint replies, before one of his chemical arrows hits said other now-blazing slimeball, turning it into a round frozen ball that drops to the ground, shattering on the street below. “ _Thor, has Loki got his bored face on, yet?_ ”

“ _Unfortunately not, my friend – I do believe he is going to surprise us,_ ” Thor replies wearily, sending a groan through the majority of the team. Loki himself snickers. Through the comm system.

“Loki, stop inviting yourself to our group-chat,” Tony berates, firing at the main slime-machine that the elusive Slime had placed earlier. The miniature missile hits it, but as expected, not all the slime around the street immediately drops. “If you’d like to help us for once, then track down the other slime machines and give us some idea of where they are.”

“ _Of course, Man of Iron. It would be my pleasure,_ ” Loki says, voice dripping with glee. Tony grunts as he makes a quick shift in the suit, avoiding one of the last flaming slimes and then another slime-machine that the Hulk throws at it.

“ _We really need to block Loki from accessing our comm units,_ ” says Capsicle from the Base, obviously annoyed that his crushed side hasn’t finished healing yet, but probably eating snacks and ice-cream with Natasha right now, if the familiar, smug sounds of eating from Natasha’s line is proof enough. “ _Iron Man-_ ”

“I’ll be on it before we get back to the tower, don’t worry, red-white-and-blue,” Tony interrupts, firing at a slime that then has to deal with a double-barrage as Thor directs lightning at it, causing a signal break-up. “Ooh, Thorzy, that was good. Let’s two-time them like that, it defo worked.”

“ _Aye, Man of Iron, a fine working strategy._ ” Tony starts to sync with Thor a bit more, following his movements on the ground and timing their shots. “ _Brother-mine, have you found the machines which these slime monsters are controlled from?_ ”

Loki, who is now sitting beside Clint, watching them with a box of popcorn, hums. “ _Oh yes, I knew from the start. If you would direct the green beast to either end of the street, you’ll find two violently green vehicles parked beside the entrances to subways._ ”

“Shit,” Tony grumbles.

“ _We can’t direct the Hulk to them, Loki,_ ” Steve says, voice uneasy. “ _Civilians can get hurt if things go flying into the subway entrances. Health and safety says the entrances can’t be blocked off during attacks, either, so there’s no way of stopping any debris._ ”

“ _Then I will provide adequate shielding,_ ” the God of Mischief replies, before his popcorn-eating self shimmers in the sunlight, disappearing. _That explains why Clint didn’t boot him off the roof,_ Tony thinks, spying the real Loki wandering up to the northern subway entrance, a green force-field appearing.

Still working with Thor, Tony listens in as Clint gets the Hulk’s attention, telling him the sitch. Ever since his vacation off-planet, during the whole Hydra/Winter Soldier incident, the Hulk has been a lot more controlled, a boon if anything, despite Tony’s wish that Bruce were around when he discovered Russian Capsicle had killed his parents when brainwashed. After receiving his orders from Clint, the Hulk makes his way north, the surface of the road sinking under his weight before springing back into place. Tony is very proud of New York’s roads and sidewalks, now – Stark nanobots injected into the second over-layer concrete mix, repairing and adjusting the upper layers to take heavier loads while the base layers beneath stay intact.

Loki himself disappears to the end of the street when the Hulk arrives, still skittish of him despite how he’d been responsible for the ridding of Thanos’ influence, playing whack-a-Loki in the penthouse. The forcefield over the second subway entrance appears, but then, Loki does the opposite.

“Thor,” Tony starts, “Loki’s gone AWOL.”

Together, they take down a Big Slime forming, usually a sign that the Slime themself could tell the battle was coming to a close. Tony has to say, they’ve come along since their original slime formula, but they still haven’t worked out how to get long-range transmitters working or work out the kink about over-charging their ‘circuits’, per-say. The Hulk takes out the last slime-machine soon after, the smaller slimes dissolving into green puddles, quick to be taken by the road nanobots to the Hazardous Materials sorting plant.

“Man of Iron,” Thor says, turning off his comm as Tony drops down beside him, the Hulk meandering over, still in alert mode. “My brothers own grand finale may yet be approaching. I would advise remaining on alert.”

“ _Agreed, Thor,_ ” Steve says seriously, before quiet falls. Tony scans the empty street, FRIDAY noting the damage and arranging a compensation check to be sent to the small business for their windows. Not raising his visor for a quick quip, however, in retrospect is a mistake.

‘ _Sir, an unknown gas is filling the suit,’_ FRIDAY starts. ‘ _Ventilation system inoperative.’_

“What the hell?” Tony mutters, before tasting the unfamiliar gas on his tongue. It burns like chilli, but is otherwise pleasant. Immediately, he shuts his mouth, FRIDAY quickly becoming audibly worried as his visor refuses to lift, his suit unresponsive to commands. Reaching up, he tries to manually take off his helmet, but even the manual switches are stuck. He can hear everyone else over the comms noticing his behaviour, FRIDAY alerting them to the danger.

Thor is quick to try prying the helmet from his head, but as soon as he touches it, green magic stings him and he backs away.

“This is Loki’s doing. Brother!” he yells, twisting and trying to spy him on the street somewhere. Meanwhile, Tony’s lungs are burning and he feels dizzy. _Oxygen deprivation_ , he thinks, before smelling the gas suddenly, feeling it creep up into his nose and down the back of his throat, touching the back of his tongue. _Shit,_ he swears, knowing whatever magic doozy Loki’s giving him has already found a way into his system.

What bare skin he has inside the suit – his face, wrists, neck and ankles – itches.

“Dammit,” he breathes in deeply, to FRIDAY’s horror. “It was making its way in through my nose and skin. Open up the suit.” Miraculously, the suit opens up and as Tony steps out, he can feel the gas inside his lungs, a completely foreign entity that sits inside of him like-

“Well, what do we have here?” Loki appears on top of a nearby car. Thor approaches, hand going to his brothers throat, hauling him up.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Loki glares angrily, grasping his brothers wrist tightly, holding himself up awkwardly, legs kicking. It’s then that Tony notices he’s wearing a different outfit – dressed in proper Earth clothes, in a pair of dark grey skinny-jeans, a t-shirt, suit jacket, shiny dress shoes and sunglasses, hair in a bun at the base of his neck. Much different from his traditional armour, which he was wearing before, as per usual during a fight.

“Change of clothes, Reindeer Games?” Tony questions in a high voice, suddenly unable to grasp his low range. Blinking, he puts a hand to his throat. “Where the fuck is my Adams Apple?”

“What?” Clint appears out of nowhere, coming over and tugging away Tony’s hand. “Shit, it’s gone, it’s actually fucking gone.”

Tony feels oddly uncomfortable in his shirt, suddenly. Tugging at the edge of it, he fidgets, wrinkling his nose as Thor looks at him with suddenly wide eyes.

“Lady Stark,” he blurts out, getting a couple of extremely odd looks, before Loki starts laughing, delighted.

“Oh my! Whoever did this to you surely has a sense of humour!”

“Well, seeing as it was you-” Tony starts, before feeling a very familiar weight disappear between his legs. His words stumble over themselves as he looks down, horrified, hand going to his _empty fucking crotch_. “What the hell?”

“ _Shit_ , Tony!” Clint is laughing, actually fucking laughing.

“ _What’s going on?_ ” Steve questions.

“Loki turned Tony into a girl!” Clint replies, lowering his bow from where he had it aimed at Loki.

“I did not,” Loki replies, sniggering.

“It was your magic,” Thor points out.

“Still wasn’t me,” the green-clad Aesir replies with a shake of his head.

Tony breathes in quickly, feeling a panic-attack on the horizon as he- _she?-_ crosses her arms over his chest, which doesn’t feel any less uncomfortable than it did before – he hopes that means it’s stopped growing – but he’s seen pictures of other women in just shirts. _I don’t want my fucking nipples all over the internet,_ he thinks, before the Hulk begins to shrink down, dark purple trousers shrinking with him, courtesy of the same nanobots in the street.

“…what’s going on? Tony?” Bruce stares at him- her?

“I’ve been turned into a woman,” Tony says, looking at Loki, who’s still sniggering. “Why would you do this?”

“I didn’t do this,” he looks Tony up and down, amused, before pausing. “Wait. Did you say I changed clothes, earlier? Was I here, causing mischief?”

“Yes, brother.”

“Well…that’s certainly interesting,” Loki says, losing all happy expression to look at him, as if he’s a science experiment – which isn’t bad, science experiments are fine, but Tony feels like he’s being checked out and that is unnecessarily hot when it’s Loki doing the checking. “I _have_ been making headway with Doctor Strange, recently, but I very much doubt even if we do become friends, she’ll let me use the Time Stone for such an endeavour as this.” Thor finally lets go of him at that, as if burned.

“The Time Stone, Loki? It is _here?_ On _Midgard?_ ”

“Time Stone – like the Infinity Stones?” Clint questions. “Shit, is that, what, four now? Space, Mind, Soul and Time, too?”

“Reality, also,” Thor rumbles, troubled.

“There’s a rumour that the Power Stone has been located, as well,” Loki mutters. “It is in the next Galaxy over, apparently. Some sort of space-faring version of the Avengers guard it. Adequate and ironic, seeing as the Avengers guard both the Mind and Soul gems.”

Tony glances at Bruce at the same time as the rest of them, who coughs and rubs his chest, bright, round orange tattoo. It was something the Press had taken notice of very quickly, seeing as it appears on the Hulk, too, a vibrant display that lit up in the heat of battle the first time – and all the subsequent times after – for all the world to see.

“If,” Bruce tries to redirect their attention, “if Doctor Strange hasn’t let you use the Time Stone, then are you just lying when you say it wasn’t you who…changed, Tony?”

Tony swallows deeply, the feeling strange. His whole _body_ feels different and he both wants to go back to normal and inspect himself – herself. Glancing at Loki, he forces herself not to step back as his hand glows green, waving over him a little. His eyes glow a little, before that fades along with his hand.

“Very strange. It was certainly me, but I have not done this to you.”

“So what, you’re a time traveller, now? Or have you just got a clone running around New York wreaking havoc, Lokes?”

Loki opens his mouth to most likely deny it, but he pauses, before twisting to look at Thor. “Mother is dead.”

Thor flinches dramatically. “Yes. What does that have to do with this matter, Loki?” His hand clenches around Mjolnir, but Loki just repeats himself.

“Mother is _dead,_ Thor. All her immediate magics will have fallen apart, even the age-long enchantments, if they were not made with another. Do you know not what that means, Thor?” Thor frowns, but he doesn’t reply, causing Loki to sigh. “Every magic of hers is gone, Thor. _Every_ magic. Including those that imprison-” he stops, clenching his jaw.

Tony then abruptly remembers some Norse Mythology.

“Ooh, wait, so do you really have kids like the books say? The ones that are supposed to bring Ragnarok?”

Loki glances back at him sharply. “Excuse me? My son is not supposed to bring Ragnarok.”

“According to the books, that’s supposed to be plural on the kid-front, Reindeer Games. Or are all our myths just bullshit?”

Loki blanches.

Thor clears his throat. “Lady Stark-” _fuck, that’s weird, it’s like I’m suddenly in drag, except I don’t feel confident AF at all_ “-your mythologies are somewhat correct, but other details, such as Loki’s supposed children, are false.”

“Fenrir is a shapeshifter,” Loki abruptly says. “Yet he only can shift into that of a wolf. He was unfairly banished from Asgard when he accidentally ate Thor’s hand. Thor was fine, once Eir sewed it back on, but the Allfather was furious. He sent Fenrir to Jotunheim, trapping him in his beast form, but Heimdall brought him back on orders from Mother. She argued with Odin that Fenrir is young yet and instead had Odin agree to bind him to the Undercity.”

“Undercity?”

“Asgard is old and builds on the old – a barrier was created to separate Asgard from its Undercity. Most of the Aesir vacated it after the war against Jotunheim was ended, however. It is empty. Fenrir prowls there alone, bound by golden chains of my mothers magic. With her death, he would be free to leave.”

“And how the fuck does that relate to Tony’s genderbend?” Clint questions.

“It doesn’t,” Loki smiles genuinely. “But I only just realised. He looks like me, oft-times. My son hasn’t seen sunlight in two hundred years and now he may be able to, once more.”

“Can we get back to me, please? Not to be self-centred or anything,” Tony starts, “but I really don’t want to be a lady.”

“The magic is complex and woven by a future me – I do suppose the Time Stone has some involvement, after all – and my future self has made sure that it cannot be reversed,” Loki says.

“So I’ll be a lady forever?” Tony tries to reconcile that with himself – herself. He looks down at his hands, abruptly realising that they look like his mothers hands, all Spanish tan and piano fingers, even if they still have all his scars and workshop burns. _I probably look a lot like her._

“I could transfer the enchantment to another,” Loki then reveals. “I would be the best candidate, actually. It’s much easier to take your own magic unto yourself and I’m a shapeshifter besides.”

“A noble deed,” Thor puts a hand on Loki’s shoulder as Loki looks at Tony, waiting his answer.

“…I’d say do it, but where does that leave you?”

“Shapeshifter, Tony,” Loki says, before a strange kind of transformation goes over him – _her,_ Tony realises quickly. The Loki in front of him looks not much different to her male self, but there _are_ differences. Her jaw is far more triangular and her hair has come out of its bun, lengthened and twisting down to her elbows. Ever her clothes have adjusted themselves, suit jacket becoming a women’s blazer, highlighting her waist and bust. Tony gets to have a good look before she reverts into male form again. “I’m what you Midgardians call _genderfluid_ , quite literally.”

“…great. Awesome. So, you don’t mind changing me back, then?”

“Not at all – but you might,” Loki grins, before stepping forwards into Tony’s personal space, leaning down and kissing him. Tony jerks, but it’s like their lips are stuck together. Their mouths open and Tony feels a cheeky bit of tongue before that foreign feeling inside him rises up through his throat. Unlike going in, it’s far cooler and sweeter than chilli, like liquid candyfloss, or air as it were. Tony hasn’t shut her eyes, however and neither has Loki.

It’s kind of weird – really weird – seeing each others eyes, but then Loki snakes his tongue into Tony’s mouth again. Tony decides to reply accordingly.

 _Might as well get a free make-out session,_ he thinks, shutting his eyes and grasping Loki’s jacket. Likewise, Loki moves his hand to Tony’s cheek, leaning further down, forcing Tony’s head back. _Tol and smol_ , he thinks vaguely, before feeling the sweet exchange finish.

Though…they keep making out for maybe another thirty seconds. Tony doesn’t think anyone could be blamed in the situation, because both of them are obviously hot as hell. Clint, Thor and Bruce would never see this gorgeous mess happen ever again, either, so they might as well put on a show.

When they part, it’s the female Loki in front of him and Tony is definitely a male again, junk back in place and boobs gone. Even his hands are back to normal. It occurs to him that if he wants to see himself as a woman, he’ll have to hack some security cameras.

He wants to know if he looked like Maria.

“Your welcome,” Lady Loki smirks, before looking back at the mildly uncomfortable Thor, hair flipping over her shoulder. “Brother dearest, I’m taking a short trip to Asgard. Do be a darling and somehow get a Midgardian identity set up for Fenrir while I’m gone. He should be the equivalent of seven or eight, by now.” She looks back to Tony, winking once before disappearing in front of their eyes.

“…well, this’ll be a funny report to hand in,” Clint ends.

* * *

The newspapers _really_ like the end to the Slime attack, apparently.

“Ooh, look, I haven’t seen that angle, yet,” Tony points out a picture from some LA rag, zooming in on his female self. Rhodey grimaces at having to see the picture of Loki and Tony kissing again. “C’mon, Rhodey, it’s not that bad. I look like my mom, even.”

“And here I thought you were just studying your latest conquest.”

“Nah, man, Loki’s got a kid and everything. That’s the kind of commitment I avoid like the plague. I mean, there’s also the magic god who can have magic god babies thing, so…yeah. I want to avoid spawning. I’m still not sure there’s not some Loki from the future slash Loki clone walking about.”

“Well, there’s definitely a female Tony clone walking about,” Rhodey says calmly.

“What?” Tony blinks.

Rhodey puts down his coffee, pointing at the picture Tony has up on the holo-screen. “Look, there, in the alleyway.”

Tony shift the picture about, zooming in. He frowns deeply. “FRIDAY, can you get some other footage with her in it?”

‘ _Yes, sir. Bringing up relevant data._ ’ FRIDAY makes about half a dozen photos appear, some from different angles, but most from that same security camera.

“Increase picture quality.”

‘ _Yes, sir._ ’

“…shit, you’re right,” Tony says, surprises. The girl in the alleyway does look a whole lot like him as a woman, but way younger and with a different jawline. “I know that jawline from somewhere.”

“Maybe Loki from the future brought back your kid from the future, too,” Rhodey jokes, making Tony roll his eyes and save the pictures to a folder in the system, turning off the holoboard.

“Yeah, like Loki and I are _ever_ going to have kids.”

* * *

Thor comes into the tower one day with a small being on his shoulders, whose eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses. He’s got dark skin and an unruly afro of hair that seems to have been combed back at some point and then decided it didn’t want to be combed, the front sticking up to the ceiling with the sides shorn neatly.

“Friend-Tony! Meet my glorious nephew, Fenrir Lokison!”

“Well met, Agent J,” Tony nods to the kid, who bares bright, white teeth.

“My name is Fenrir!”

“Fine, Billy Cranston.”

The kid growls, “My name is Fenrir!”

“Peace, nephew,” Thor interrupts Tony’s next nickname. “Tony finds humour in giving his friends nicknames. For instance, Steve is ‘Capsicle’, for his is Captain American and he was frozen like the frozen popsicle snack. Natasha, too, is called ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’, a pun on her codename, _Black Widow_ , a type of spider. ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ is a child’s nursery rhyme, I have come to understand.”

“Tell me it,” Fenrir demands.

“Be nice, wolf-boy,” Tony says. “In my tower, you ask, you don’t order – unless it’s to do with the health and safety of the tower residents and visitors.”

There’s a short silence, before Fenrir speaks again, quieter and far more polite than before. “Uncle Thor, would you tell me this Midgardian nursery rhyme?”

As Thor recites the age-old children’s poetry, Tony checks out the template Thor had asked him to make up for Fenrir. Editing it, he changes the ethnicity he’d assumed would be Caucasian, considering Loki and Thor both, to mixed black before standing from his place on the sofa, meandering over to the stationary Thor.

“Kiddo, take off your sunglasses and gimme a smile,” Tony says.

Fenrir glances down. “You just said not to order people about unless it’s to do with health and safety.”

“This is about your safety, trust me. If you don’t have an ID, bad things can happen and ID’s need up to date pictures of their owners. Is this what you usually look like? Your mom said you were a shapeshifter.”

“Fenrir prefers this form,” Thor answers for his nephew, “but he has multiple forms he is fond of.”

“I’ll make multiple up ID’s, then. I’m sure the not-so-secretly-alive Agent Coulson can sneak them in there somewhere. Just need a picture for each of them,” Tony says, bringing up the camera on the StarkTab he has in hand. Bringing it up, he waits expectantly. “Sunglasses off, please.”

Fenrir hesitates, before reaching up and taking them off. Tony is briefly shocked by the bright amber, before he takes a picture.

“Can you shift between your other usual forms, please?” Fenrir obliges and it’s pretty cool to watch the kid become six other people, two of them at least visibly female. Tony asks questions about each of them – asking their preferred genders, physical sexes, names, pronouns and if Fenrir knew whether he was actually Aesir in some of them, considering his mother’s species.

To his surprise, it’s the last question which throws the kid off. He can’t answer properly, looking at Thor in confusion as he puts his sunglasses back on – Loki wasn’t kidding about him not having seen sunlight in a while, apparently, though in retrospect it’s pretty brave for the kid to take them off while still getting used to how bright it is on Earth.

“Mother is Aesir, isn’t she?” Fenrir questions.

Tony hides his grimace, knowing the problem here, Thor’s face contorting into one of similar realisation. Fenrir is brought down from his shoulders, placed on the ground gently.

“Nephew, I must meet with Loki on urgent, private business on matters she has not consulted you on. Would you acquiesce to staying with the Man of Iron, presently, while I do so?”

“I do not know him.”

“Loki trusts him.”

… _well, that’s surprising,_ Tony thinks as Thor leaves a few seconds later, Fenrir perfectly fine with staying after that pronouncement. The kid, back to his usual form, walks over to the sofas, sitting down on the single beanbag that Vision and Wanda usually claim if Pietro hasn’t snatched his sister away to sit with Natasha, staring at the television. It’s playing _Golden Girls_ , which isn’t as bad as other things Tony could have had on in the background. _Actually, it’s probably pretty okay for him to watch it, if he’s learning Earth things._

A little more comfortable with the situation, Tony sits down again, having FRIDAY keep an eye out for any inappropriate material for a sort-of-seven-year-old as he edits Fenrir’s original ID and plays about with his other ones. However, apparently the beanbag doesn’t agree with Fenrir, because before the episode of _Golden Girls_ even finishes, he’s climbing onto Tony’s lap, ignoring his protestations.

“Mother trusts you, so I do, too. Please be quiet now, so I might watch this riveting media.”

Tony had planned to go into focus mode at some point. He still does, to his own surprise, only snapping out of when Loki comes to call with Thor by the elevator, lifting the snoozing Fenrir from on top of him.

“Thank-you for looking after him, Anthony,” Loki thanks quietly, resting Fenrir on her hip, rocking slightly as he shifts in his sleep. “I owe you a favour.”

“I don’t mind babysitting the little guy. He’s not so bad, when he’s enjoying some prime TV,” Tony says, glancing at the TV, which is still playing _Golden Girls_ something like four hours later. _Must be a marathon going on._ “If you’re busy, I don’t mind doing this again.”

_Okay, what the fuck. Why the fuck did I offer to do that?_

Loki smiles, however. “A generous offer, Man of Iron. Mayhaps, I will take you up on it. But for now, we must part. I shall convey a farewell to Fenrir from you.”

“Right, cool. Tell him it was good having him round.”

“I will. Good day to you, Anthony.”

* * *

The next few months are strange. Mainly because Fenrir makes a point in visiting Tony whenever he has free time. One time, he even has the NYPD on his tail because he visits Stark Tower during his school’s lunchtime, not returning in time for class. The fact that he goes to school isn’t really the alarming part of that sentence, in retrospect, but to be fair, Tony didn’t realise Loki had actually enrolled him in school at all.

“He could go to a better one,” Tony argues with the god, who’s in his male form rather than his female, which has been the go-to since the Slime Attack. “I could get that kid places.”

“Fenrir is getting comfortable,” Loki shakes his head. “He would not do well with another change, so quickly. You forget – this is a new _planet_ for him. At least on Asgard, he knew what kind of thing to expect.”

“Swords and basket-weaving?” Tony jokes, knowing what he’s saying is bullshit – Asgard is far more advanced than Thor used to make it out to be. “Seriously though, if he gets kicked out or if he gets bullied or something, I can pull strings. I’ve got a couple of kid prodigies around the world I keep an eye out for.”

“Really?” Loki raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Tony tells. Oh, he _tells._ Rhodey makes fun of him for it, but why shouldn’t Tony show off his kids? Harley Keener was the first – he’s getting on in advanced chemistry and engineering classes right now, with private tutoring on the side. Tony goes out to Tennessee to see him too many times a month to be good for his schedule, but what can he say? They’re _connected._

Harley _might_ also be his biological son, however, that’s between Matilda Keener, Tony and no-one else – Harley doesn’t care either way, the eavesdropper, so long as Tony gives his mother money to support them every so often and visits. Neither requirement is a hardship for Tony, no hardship whatsoever.

Peter Parker, his more superhero-based mentee, is doing good as Spiderman while also getting on in school at Midtown Tech – he and his team won the Academic Decathlon this year, a feat on Peter’s part seeing as he was collaborating with Tony to take down a Chitauri arms dealer by the name of Vulture at the same time. Honestly, Tony doesn’t know how the kid does it – he’s also in the marching band as a trumpet player, Robotics Club _and_ the Star Wars Appreciation Club. _That_ club camped out for three entire days to see _The Last Jedi_ and Peter was _still_ swinging around Queens in the Spidersuit with KAREN.

There’s also Riri Williams, a spitfire who reverse-engineered parts of Whiplash’s HAMMER drones to create her own Iron Kid suit. A mathematics genius and only nine years old, Tony’s already found himself funding her summer exploits, paying for her engineering summer camp and other pieces of equipment for her laboratory – aka, her backyard shed that her parents have had to rebuild on three different occasions because it burnt down.

Lila Rhodes, Rhodey’s niece, also has her spot on his Kid Wall of Fame. Tony has plans for Lila – big plans, if she’s up for it. Lila’s a good mechanic and she’s helped him out with patching her uncle’s Iron Patriot armour multiple times. Currently in the Navy, she’s a marine engineer and Tony hopes once she’s got some service on her record, she’ll transfer across the board into the Avengers Initiative, to take Rhodey’s place as the new Iron Patriot.

Loki is the first one to hear this plan, other than FRIDAY. The god listens and thinks on it over lunch, which is spent with Fenrir and Thor, who compete to see who can eat more garlic bread than the other. Fenrir wins because he has the foresight to challenge Thor after his uncle has already eaten four plates of pasta and an entire bowl of potato salad.

“Ugh,” Thor groans, dropping onto the sofa with another moan. “I ate too much.”

“You have to take me back to school, now,” Fenrir informs him and Thor makes more pained noises before standing, hauling his nephew over his shoulder and trudging out onto the balcony. Tony and Loki watch them leave in barely-veiled amusement.

“At what point will Thor realise Fenrir’s a manipulative little shit?” Tony questions fondly, Loki shaking his head.

“He already knows. Thor loves my son, however, probably too much. Mothi and Magni died young.”

“Mo-who and Mag-what?”

“Mothi and Magni,” Loki repeats, giving Tony a careful look. “Thor’s twin sons.”

_What the hell?_

“They…Thor had sons,” Tony struggles to comprehend that fact. “Who died.”

“Assassinations by the most vile. Sif was the one to find them. Her screams woke the palace and her grief turned her hair darker than a ravens feather,” Loki says. “They were too young. Both Thor and the Lady Sif were hardly more than…teenagers. Odin did not argue against their decision to dissolve their marriage.”

“Should you be telling me this? Would Thor want me to know?” Tony questions, worried Loki has crossed a line. He never even knew Thor had been _married_ , let alone that he had a _family_. Tony can’t imagine having gone through that kind of horror as a teen.

“Thor mentioned them to me the night he brought Fenrir home to me,” Loki says softly, hand reaching slightly, brushing Tony’s arms. “He was ready to talk of them, those few months ago. They were but babes who never even crawled. Thor misses what could have been. If you asked, he would tell. I am not sure of the Lady Sif, but I would believe that the day she finally accepted their deaths, her hair would turn sun-blonde again.”

Loki falls silent. Then, his wandering hand slips into Tony’s. The inventor cocks his head, staring at it. Loki’s grasp is cool and there’s a drop of pasta sauce on the table next to it, a bright, red-orange dot on the white marble that just annoys the heck out of Tony – enough that he lets go of Loki’s hand just to wipe it, before reaching upwards to the other god’s face, wanting to try something he hasn’t actually done in something like three years.

“Are you-” Loki blinks in surprise, before cutting himself off, eyes glinting with a sudden brightness. Loki is the one to lean down, lips meeting Tony’s. It’s clearly voluntary and Tony doesn’t regret it, not when their tongues dip and dive, the pressure changing from soft to hard as their bodies gravitate closer, hips connecting.

Tony feels a hand on his back and another carding through his hair, tugging. He grunts at the sharpness of it, before pushing back, turning Loki into the island table.

Their lips part and Loki breathes heavily, giving a cheeky grin. “Oh, _Anthony_ , how daring of you. Seducing a god?”

“Making a new myth,” Tony corrects, running a hand down Loki’s pale throat and chest. “The best Avenger made out with Loki to turn back into a dude, then started having lunch with them and their kid a lot. They made out again. That’s where we’re at now.”

“Very early on in the myth,” Loki says, “though you missed out the mystery of who turned you into a male in the first place.”

“Some magic kid of yours from the future,” Tony says, half-serious and half-joking. He waves his hand, bringing down a hologram from nowhere. “Fri, the girl?”

“ _Here, boss,_ ” FRIDAY brings up the security footage, Loki reaching upwards with a shocked gasp.

“Oh. You…that…” Loki looks hypnotised. “You’re right. That _is_ my daughter.”

“…really?” Tony frowns, remembering how Rhodey called her his female clone. He forces himself not to think about what that means, considering Loki’s reaction. “What was she doing here?”

“To drive us together, perhaps,” Loki’s hand twists up, on the edge of the hologram, just below her face. “She looks like us.”

 _Damnit._ “Yeah,” Tony agrees, uncomfortable. His anxieties and insecurities rise up inside of him, bubbling in his chest like a soup-pot. He steps back, hands tucking into his pockets. “How was lunch?”

Loki glances away from the girl who may or may not be their future daughter, which is just _freaky._ “Tony, it’s just a child. I’m probably the one doing most of the work, anyway.”

“You say that now,” Tony starts, “and then later, I’m a girl again and we’re having fun, then I’m knocked up. You see it all the time in movies.” You don’t, actually – you see it in funky Avengers fanfiction that Tony _really_ shouldn’t have searched up. He won’t be able to look at Steve’s thumb the same way ever again.

“Tony,” Loki says sharply. “You were waxing poetic about your own children only two hours ago. Don’t tell me they _scare_ you.”

“Small ones scare me. Tiny fragile ones who take up all your time because if you leave them alone for ten minutes, they fall and hit their heads,” Tony says, defending himself, swallowing nervously. He thinks of Howard – who foisted him off on nannies and Ana Jarvis, when the nannies speaking Spanish rubbed off on him. “I don’t know how to do any of it,” he admits.

“I do,” Loki says, voice calm, but strong. “Time is fluid, however. That woman could be Fenrir’s child, for all we know.”

Tony gives a wobbly grin. “Yeah. Fenrir’s and Harley’s – our gene pool, combined in a different generation.”

Loki’s lip twitches, like he doesn’t believe what either of them are saying, but it’s the thought that counts. Tony steps back into Loki’s space again, hands worming out of his jean pockets to slide up Loki’s thighs.

“Still, that aside-” he briefly reaches up, flicking the hologram away “-what do you say? Like our myth so far?”

“Yes,” Loki says.

* * *

“I have too many kids,” Tony mutters to himself, flying over to shoot his repulsors at an enhanced gorilla. It roars back and Tony decides that the Hulk is probably better suited to beating down these guys, unless Wanda can make them sleep or something. Flying up out of the way of the gorilla’s grabby hands, he does a sweep of the area, swerving out of Peter’s way as he swings away from a netted-up gorilla to go catch another one.

“ _Hey, Iron Man!_ ”

“Spiderman,” Tony greets in turn, grimacing at the sight that greets him.

Pietro is _still_ depriving one of the gorillas of air like he’s the speedster villain from _Sky High._ It’s a waste of time and energy, even if it _does_ get a few of them to stop and hoot in misery at their non-functioning silverback.

“ _You’d be better served somewhere else, Quicksilver,_ ” Clint says through the comms, the Avenger back at base today, broken arm putting him out of action. “ _One of the outsiders are going to try grabbing you at some point in a panic and that won’t be pretty on your ribs._ ”

“ _I’ve got this,_ ” Pietro insists. “ _Wanda-_ ”

“Scarlet Witch is busy,” Tony interrupts hastily, dropping down to tag-team with Vision as Wanda has to stop fighting abruptly to stop a building from falling down on top of them all. “Get out of there, Quicksilver. Don’t make me put you on Civilian Run.”

Civilian Run is hardly a punishment, but it does stop the Avenger on Civilian Run in question from actually fighting or doing anything to help take down the enemy. Tony can hear Pietro gnashing his teeth, but a moment later, a silver-blue blur is whipping around his area, working in tandem with Vision, so Tony can shoot off into the sky again to where Steve, Natasha and Hulk are at work trying to keep some gorillas away from yet another subway station outlet.

“Do we need backup?” Tony questions. “I can get the Hulkbuster online.”

“What we need is a sedative!” Steve shouts. “The building, Wanda-”

“On it,” Tony says, miniature missiles firing at a near-downed gorilla, punching a bloody hole in its skull. “Small fry, get to it.”

“ _I’ve already sent out the propulsors, boss,_ ” FRIDAY says, hundreds of flashing blue dots appearing in his visor from the north.

“Good girl,” Tony praises, before an earth-shaking howl rends the air. It makes the hairs on the back of his arms stand up and his heart skip a beat. The gorillas on the ground react quickly, turning to the source of the sound, more than a few leaving current fights to huddle up down the street, the leading silverback making chimp noises at a gigantic, amber-eyed wolf that growls at them.

 _…he wouldn’t._ Tony’s mouth goes dry and he flies over, dropping down beside the wolf, reaching up to grab the side of his scruff, faceplate receding.

Fenrir just keeps growling at the damn gorillas.

“Get the hell off this battlefield, kid,” Tony orders, angry and scared. “You might be double my height and scary strong, but there’s at least ten of them and only one of you. There’s no time for you to argue with me on this.”

“ _Tony, what is that thing?_ ” Steve asks over the comms.

“Fenrir Lokison,” Tony snaps, both over the comm and at the wolf, who finally looks at him. “You’re making an ass of this. You never should have come out here. Those gorillas will attack at _any moment-_ ”

Of course, that is when the gorillas suddenly pound the ground and surge forwards as one towards Fenrir. Immediately, Fenrir’s dangerous, haughty stand drops and for how monstrous his wolf persona looks, Tony can tell he’s a puppy by the way he flags and turns tail, bounding down the avenue in fright.

“ _Tony!_ ” Natasha shouts, reminding Tony to fly off, up into the air. It’s too late, though – one of the gorillas grabs his legs, slamming him back down into the ground á la Loki and the Hulk.

Tony blacks out.

* * *

He wakes to the strange, familiar smell of home. Air-conditioning swirls around his feet and there’s a strange pressure around his chest. Tony breathes in. _No bandages._

“Friday?” Tony surprises himself by croaking her name out.

“ _Boss,_ ” FRIDAY sound eternally relieved, “ _you’re awake. I’m informing the others. Lady Loki has kept you in an enchanted sleep while she and the Healer Eir of Asgard healed you._ ”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Tony rasps, before opening his eyes to a dimly lit room – his bedroom in the penthouse. Everything is where it was, except the pouffe by the window, which has been moved beside his bed, as if someone sat on it. Loki’s clothes, which had been previously strewn over it, are nowhere to be found.


	2. #porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> riri stark goes back in time, blah blah blah, i love domesticism in fic too much.

She is made of porcelain, ivory, marble. She looks down on her subjects and gives them wonders beyond their belief, and devastation that wreaks chaos.

Riri Stark is the face of _every SI platform on the globe._

Riri Stark is _Queen_.

She is made of marble, steel, titanium. She looks down on her subjects and protects them from aliens and humans alike, no-one protecting her from the ones who pay for the damage.

Riri Stark is _Iron Maiden_.

Riri Stark is an _Avenger._

But then she’s made of steel again, and marble and then ivory soon after – because General Ross is verdant and unafraid and is a bomb waiting to go off in a different way to Bruce. Guns – political, metaphorical, _physical and the soon-to-be-raised_ are at the heads of her friends, her loved ones, her family, and fuck it, she’s _tired_ , but she has a duty, and Steve is worse than a bull in a china-shop. He doesn’t see the big picture. For all his little sneaky tricks and cheats that come from his Brooklyn upbringing, Steve in _no way at all_ is a politician, or a true chess-player.

Riri digresses.

If Steve had been a chess-player, Erskine wouldn’t have made him a super-soldier in the first place. But that doesn’t matter right now.

Right _now_ , Riri is staring at a pregnancy test.

Ivory turns into porcelain, and then – as her mind turns and turns and turns and turns until rather than jerking cogs, everything is oil – that porcelain turns into _diamond_.

* * *

Her world is terrible and she doesn’t like it. Riri loves the people she leaves behind, but her baby’s welfare is more important than theirs. If she could take them, she would have, but Riri’s couple-dozen arc reactors produced barely enough power for the both of them. Stark Industries was be left in Pepper’s hands, as she had decided decades ago, and so would everything else – with the exception of FRIDAY, who had travelled with her.

The Iron Maiden suits, she had destroyed before leaving. And no way in hell was she letting any more of her children die or become something they were never supposed to be.

“ _Mother_ ,” FRIDAY speaks through the Bluetooth headset in her ear as she plays with her pancakes with her fork, tearing Morse code for ‘happy birthday to me’ in the top. “ _I think your presence must have been detected somehow. I cannot tell who their employer is, but they are watching you, for certain._ ”

“I know,” Riri says, lips unmoving, before eating some of the pancakes. Tapping her Bluetooth, as if beginning a call, she flips through her New York Times and spoke loud enough for a normal headset to pick her voice up. “Nina Carbonell speaking.”

“ _I’ve secured you a new hotel room to place your belongings in while you’re out. The owner doesn’t like bugs on his clients, so any placed on your suitcase as you go past should hopefully be removed and neutralised._ ”

“Awesome. Give me directions, babe.” Riri stood, chucking a couple of random bills on the table, and grabbing her case, wheeling it out, feeling like Pepper as her fancy pencil skirt caused her walk to shorten and quicken at the same time. Usually she preferred longer, flowing skirts, either all the way to her ankles, or to her knees, that could flare out if she spun around – but she had to make the right kind of impression.

After all, her counterpart was looking for a PA and if Riri had anything to do with it, ‘Natalie Rushman’ wouldn’t be going near him.

* * *

Okay, Pepper was being super professional.

Riri was kind of disappointed.

“-and you’ll meet Tony tomorrow. JARVIS will direct you to where we are at the time, once you arrive at ten am. And I must warn you before you begin as his PA that Stark Industries does not want any form of lawsuit, so please tell me if Tony is being inappropriate.” Pepper grimaced, causing Riri to blanche a bit.

What was her counterpart like, if this was what got told to every close employee?

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry.” Riri pulls a tight smile, not looking forwards to any sort of advances he may make. “I’ll just go now, then?”

Pepper put a hand to her arm, “Have a nice afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she walked off, leaving Riri on her own. Watching her go, Riri began heading in the opposite direction, taking her usual route through the office – which wasn’t much changed from her old one, in the original universe – and finding herself frowning as she saw a dispute between an engineer and technician.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” She questioned, authority lacing her tone. The two men glanced over.

“None of your business, lady – this asshole just won’t fix the vending machine properly.” He jerked a thumb towards it – and indeed, the technician was doing a horrendous job. Making a noise of annoyance at SI property being treated in such a way, she pushed past them both, crouching down in her heels to fiddle with the broken latch.

“What are you doing?” The technician grabbed her shoulder, causing Riri to reach up instinctually to scratch at the offending appendage. He hissed, jumping back as she glared, before continuing to fix the machine – doing so in under a minute, most of that time being spent repairing what the technician had broken. She looked to the engineer.

“Report him. He was just making it worse. The only thing wrong with it was a loose latch into the door. If it doesn’t shut properly, it won’t function, yada yada – _report him_.”

“Doesn’t need to,” a voice suddenly boomed, sounding intrigued. “He’s fired and _you_ are hired.” Riri tried to place the voice. FRIDAY supportively advised her to look up.

On a balcony, above the busy office warehouse, was her counterpart, staring at her with a grin.

“What you doing here anyway, gorgeous?” Riri couldn’t contain her facial expression at the endearment before she answered.

“Interview. I got it. We’re meeting officially tomorrow.”

“Ooh, you’re the new PA! Why is a mechanic my PA?” Her counterpart was just like in the magazines – brassy and confident, swaggering despite his stillness, at least the first time she looks. The second, Riri can see herself in him. She can see his pain and his demons, the shadows under his eyes prominent but thankfully not echoing his impending doom. “What’s your name?”

“Nina and I was a mechanic long before I got into the assisting business,” Riri replied clearly, before turning her back on him and leaving, ignoring his parting remarks and wishes for her to stay and chat.

She’d see him tomorrow, anyhow.

* * *

Natasha is there.

 _How is she here when I’ve taken her job?_ Riri stares at the assassin, wondering just what she was doing in the gym with them. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“…Natasha Romanoff,” is Riri’s clever reply. Natasha turns and gives her a fraction more attention. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere, I don’t know, chasing down bad guys and rescuing fair circus-men?” Natasha doesn’t reply, but does fully turn now, ignoring Tony Stark and Pepper as she looks Riri up and down.

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Really, Tasha?” Riri mutters under her breath, not meaning to say it aloud, even though she does. “What are you doing here?

“I’m the new PA. What about you?”

“ _Really?_ ” Riri scrunches up her nose, glancing at Pepper. “Are we vying for the position or working together? I don’t know.” She looks to Tony Stark, eyebrow raised in preparation. But Tony Stark himself seems amused.

“Pep? What’s going on?”

“You’re getting two PA’s,” Pepper explains as Riri internally groans. _Two assistants? What could be worse?_ “Until one of them cracks, at least.”

Riri raises her other eyebrow.

 _Pepper’s got more spunk in this universe_.

“Awesome,” Tony Stark replies, seemingly chipper. “What if I want to fire Natashalie because she isn’t a mechanic like _Nina_ , eh?”

“Call her Ms Carbonell, Tony,” Pepper hands Riri a clipboard, which she pages through, only to look up sharply as Tony chokes on his drink.

“Car- Carbonell?” He stares at her with a new interest, eyes wide, if not a little bloodshot. “You look like me.”

Riri blinks.

_Oh. He caught on quick._

“I’m your cousin,” Riri replies after a second, and FRIDAY informing her that digital papers were already being laid – but that JARVIS was on her tail, and catching up, and she had better not say anything more on the matter. “And that’s all I’m saying for now. I’d rather just have this job, thanks.”

Tony points at her.

“You’re my cousin? On what side?”

Riri’s eye twitches at his behaviour as FRIDAY informs her that Maria is now her non-existent father’s cousin, once removed. Riri knows her family history well enough to take it from there. But…

“I already said I wasn’t going to tell you anything more right now.” She looks at the clipboard in her grasp, flipping through it again and manoeuvring around Pepper to approach him, tucking a pen into the free hand that holds the disgusting vitamin shake. “Sign. Now.”

“Can we play twenty-questions? Are you even my cousin? Ooh!” he wiggles his boxing glove-covered hand, gasping theatrically. Riri’s lip twitches.

“Sign.”

He pouts, but signs, “Spoilsport.” Riri glances back at Natasha, who is watching her carefully.

_I’m going to have to be careful. Very, very careful._


	3. #back to black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the avengers are time travelling little shits who have been deaged and have no idea what they're doing.

He has to admit – their plan is kind of shit.

“Do you have a spare toothbrush?” he can hear Clint asking, scraping at his tongue with his nails, a faint oily sheen glimmering in the light. “I can still taste the gas.”

A handkerchief is lobbed in the archer’s direction, Natasha wryly maintaining, “That’s because you stole it.”

“Karma,” chimes in Steve, who grins even as Clint scowls, wiping furiously at the black slick coating his mouth. Across the room, Bruce is tapping away on his carefully-built computer, their go-to tech guy in this time period, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. At his side, little Peter is watching him avidly, though his eyes, despite being practically glued to the screen, are sliding shut every few seconds. It’s a sure sign he’s about to conk out – he’s two years old, so it’s not surprising to James that he’s feeling the need to nap.

James wonders if he could take a nap, too.

An insistent hand bats at his shin wildly, Wanda letting out a childish grumble as she says, “You stopped.”

James pauses, looking down at her hair in his hands. None of the mouse-brown strands are tangled, but his fingers are lax; he corrects that immediately, attending to her long braid. When he finally ties it off with a hairband, the plait is tight enough that it _hopefully_ won’t whip about everywhere when she goes zooming up into the air with her powers. They’ve all learnt the hard way how vindictive the six year old can get when the rat’s nest version of her hair has to be tended to.

“You’re a shitty friend,” Clint grumbles when he finally throws back Natasha’s handkerchief. She kicks it into a nearby open suitcase, the one that Bruce will pack his laptop into when he’s done fiddling with the security cameras remotely.

James looks at the calendar by the door. _December 15 th, 1991._ A chill has already settled over his soul – they’ve been preparing for this, the closest event they can manipulate from when they landed and while knowing their odds are great, James still can’t get it out of his head that this might be where everything goes sideways.

“…I did it,” Bruce mutters, raising his voice to repeat himself. He doesn’t have to, though, the motel room of superheroes having tuned into his voice immediately. Drawing Wanda up onto his lap from the floor, James settles back into the deep armchair, affecting a neutral expression as Peter perks up at his side. He shares a look with Natasha.

Her sigh is in her eyes, rather than in any droop of her shoulder or noise she might make. As Steve checks on Bruce’s progress, Natasha fetches Peter, who guilelessly doesn’t expect any ulterior motives from the assassin. In her arms, the pseudo-nineteen year old looks like a young mother, Peter clasped gently in her arms as he lays against her breast. She crosses the room, singing a lullaby under her breath. Within a minute, Peter is asleep and only Clint’s quick shove stops Steve from loudly announcing their next move.

James thought his former best friend couldn’t look any younger. Like a deer in the headlights, his wide eyes and half-stricken expression makes him look younger than his bodily age of sixteen – which on Stevie is about twelve. Bruce, the fourteen year old of their bunch, adjusts his glasses nervously while Clint – the ten year old, which will never not be funny to Natasha, apparently – bounces in place.

“Sam is checking in,” Bruce announces quietly, vividly aware of the narrow-eyed look Natasha is sending him, that says _if you wake Peter up, there will be hell to pay._ Bruce ducks down to stare at the screen. “He’s packing away the equipment, so JARVIS should be reintegrating into himself soon – I’ve told him to head back. Vision is staying to make sure there are no hiccups, like planned.”

“How do you think Tony’s going to react? Really, I mean.” Steve crosses his arms, as if he can hide himself from the world behind a pair of skinny twigs. The confidence is inspiring, at least. “JARVIS is his creation. He’ll notice.”

“He will, but that’s the point,” Natasha confirms in a tender voice. In the armchair, James strokes Wanda’s head, knowing she’s noticed the same thing he has: they’re acting their apparent ages, no matter the truth of the situation. At her affirmation, Steve visibly relaxes, trusting her, his brain calming at her gentle assurances.

“The AI will keep him safe,” Wanda whispers. James can’t help the fond kiss he presses to her hair, grunting positively. She snuggles closer and he wraps his arms around her tighter, ready to drift off himself.

“We need to sleep,” he announces, Natasha heading to settle Peter in the travel-cot they have set up between the twin beds. Clint wrinkles his nose and James takes pity on him. “Barton can take first watch with Romanova.”

“Three hour shifts.” Natasha confirms with him, getting a nod in return before she changes into her pyjamas, gun tucked under her pillow and a knife strapped to either thigh. A quiet wheeze sounds, attracting his attention. Even as he shuts his eyes to sleep, James speaks to Steve in a hard tone.

“Use your inhaler, Stevie, before I have to make you.”

Steve grumbles, but thankfully does as he’s told. Drifting off quickly, feeling Wanda’s heated weight on his chest and her heartbeat pacing itself to his own, James lets sleep devour him.

* * *

They do not plan on saving Howard Stark.

This is not why James thinks it’s a shit plan.

Having stalked the inventor for several weeks, living off money stolen out of various Hydra and SHIELD drop-offs and safe-houses in the state, they’d figured out his schedule and his routes home, even checking on the precious super-serum he keeps stashed in the trunk, like an imbecile. From James’ previous experiences, they know the where and when that the Winter Soldier will assassinate the Stark’s and steal the serum.

Their own plan to steal the serum is dangerous because of how simple it is. Howard Stark always has his butler, Edwin Jarvis, fill up the tank of his car at the end of the day – enough to get him home, back and then various nearby landmarks, if needed. Clint has already stolen a quarter of that fuel, thereby ensuring that Howard Stark will run out of gas at least five minutes before the intended assassination sight.

James thinks their plan is shitty because it relies on chance. If Howard Stark sees the fuel gauge is lower than usual, he could change his route or his timing, or both. If the car runs out of gas later than they calculated, the Soldier could get to them first, before they have time to adequately surround, incapacitate and steal from him, post-murder op when his adrenaline is high and his priority is keeping the serum safe to give to his handlers.

What they _want_ is for there to be a delay long enough that Wanda and Clint can steal the super-serum before the Soldier realises his quarry won’t be passing him by as planned. In general, James just does not like their plan. There’s too much relying on chance, but it’s the only one they’ve got – and hey, they’ve been multitasking.

“If I ever have to do that much tech magic again, kill me,” Sam moans, laying back on the motel bed with relish. Natasha ruins his mood by laying Peter on his stomach. Sam squints at the baby, who is adorable and clearly just as surprised at the change in hands. “What?”

“You’re looking after Peter,” she informs him, motioning to Bruce, “because he’s chicken and doesn’t want to do it alone.”

“I’m not chicken – I’m being _sensible,_ ” Bruce stresses, laughing awkwardly. James doesn’t look his way, just so he doesn’t feel any more embarrassed, checking the guns at his back once more before pulling on the leather jacket Clint had found him. It matches Natasha’s and for a moment, he’s struck dumb as he watches her tie her hair up, bandana keeping stray curls out of the way.

“Your jaw’s going to fall off, James,” says Wanda, cheekily. Clint snickers by the window, legs dangling on either side of the ledge. James snaps his mouth shut, feeling a flush in his cheeks as Natasha grins, winking at him.

Steve rolls his eyes from his place at the desk. “Can you just go?” he asks, impatient. “I want to get back to normal, thanks.”

“Punk, shut your gob,” James orders sweetly, smiling at his friend with menace. _You’ve forgotten what ‘normal’ means, kid._ “We’re going.”

“Okay.” Steve’s eyes trail them up and down, envy clear. He wants to help – but like Bruce, he’s a liability in the field. Honestly? James _does_ want fighter Steve back, but right now, only Sam could better their odds and he’s just spent the whole day driving in circles, getting their future lodgings ready and securing their escape from the area, in no condition to offer support.

Shucking off his own thoughts, James concentrates on the mission. Hopefully, things will only deviate from the timeline slightly – the Winter Soldier will have to approach on foot and play a killer game of hide and seek, unaware that the ‘kids’ running around the woods are far from ordinary.

The car is still warm when they get in. Their plan is – once again – dangerous in its simplicity. Clint and Wanda will be let out a mile before the kill point and then Natasha and James will park right in the view of the Soldier’s sniper nest, pretending to be young lovers getting frisky. The possibility that the Soldier will recognise either of them has crossed his mind, another danger – but the risk is worth it. The Soldier doesn’t actively kill civilians and at this stage post-wipe, James doubts he’d even feel a flicker of familiarity upon sighting Natasha.

They set up. Natasha sits on his lap in the passenger’s seat, kissing him. He can’t really help his physical reaction to that, but their mission takes precedence. Knowing where his sniper’s nest is, James finds it easily, though actually _seeing_ it is impossible, of course.

Close to eight pm, Wanda reaches out to their minds and tells them the car is still running on fumes. It will pass them. James, who has his hands roaming under the edge of Natasha’s shirt, halts. What will the Soldier do? Nearly immediately, the answer occurs to him.

“Car crash,” Natasha mutters, their minds running similar tracks. _What have we done?_ James thinks, finding himself horrified at the idea of what the Soldier might do to cover up the crime.

“He’ll shoot their wheels – they’ll crash into us at high speed.”

“Perfect cover up, until they find the bullets in the autopsy,” she replies, but James crushes her shirt in hand, pale and milky-skinned.

He barely manages to mutter, “ _The arm,_ ” before they hear it: the sound of an engine in the distance. It is zooming through the forest, engine growling. Natasha reaches for the door, opening it and retreating in and instant. James barely understands what she’s doing, until she climbs up on top of the roof and _shouts_.

“ _SOLDAT! SOLDAT! NYET! NYET-_ ”

His fury bursts from his skin, but James understands. He has to. It’s one of the only options she has – a stalling technique, a risk that has to be taken. They’ve made a mistake, interfering like this. They should have just gotten Wanda to stop their car early with her powers, killed Stark and his wife themselves rather than blame it on a Hydra assassin.

James gets out of the car.

On the road, he waves his arms wildly, seeing headlights in the distance. Natasha on the roof of their car sits down casually, swaying like she’s drunk and James adopts a certain swagger to his steps as the Stark’s slow to a stop in front of him. Stumbling over to the driver’s window, James leans over, watching the window roll down.

“Kid,” Howard barks, “What are you doing out here?”

“What are you?” James barks back with a slur, blinking slowly. He glances back at Natasha and the car in faux-confusion. “Uh…we forgot to bring a designation driver. Desig- designated driving. Driver. Person.”

“Howard, they’re drunk teenagers.” Maria Stark leans over, catching his eye. “Son, what’s your name? Where do you live?”

“In town,” James says, seeing the recognition finally springing in Howard’s eyes, his hardened expression slackening. “Annie, me, we’re not kids. We _have_ a kid. He’s really young. Got a break for the first time in years. _Years,_ miss. Babysitter. But we forgot about driving and drinking and- and _all that_. I don’t want to get in a car crash-”

“What’s your name?” Howard cuts in, squinting at him in the dark.

“Bob. Bobbie, to Annie,” James says promptly. “Robert, to my mammy. What about you? Who are you?”

On the car-top, he can see Natasha using a hand-sign for _danger_ , before she slips off the car-roof and walks across the road. James, keeping both Howard and Maria’s attention as he is, makes sure they don’t even bother to look.

“Howard Stark, of Stark Industries. This is my wife, Maria,” mutters Howard. He looks James up and down, shaking himself. “You look like someone I used to know. A carbon copy.”

“Nice,” James smiles a little, then puts his hand to his mouth, realising that something won’t make sense to the Stark’s in a minute if he can’t cover it up. “Oops.”

“Oops?”

James pouts, before faux-whispering. “I lied. We weren’t drinking – but don’t tell the police! I really don’t want to get into a car crash, if we try to drive. No bad breath. Have you ever had ‘shrooms before?”

Howard winces, putting his hand up. “Bob, shush.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and in his mind, James hears Wanda whispering _we’re here, keep him busy._ “Alright,” Howard says after a minute, looking to Maria briefly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Our car’s running out of gas, so my wife will drive you and your girlfriend home in your car, while I wait here for the tow-service, as horrible as that sounds…”

“Nah, that sounds great,” James says cheerily, leaning over so he can rest his arms on the open window. “We’ve got the babysitter all night with Sammy, so we can wait for your tow-service, if you like. Hey! You could even phone our motel! Do you have a phone?”

“Yes,” Howard sighs, looking more than a little amused, now. “Are you missing your son?”

“…yeah,” James sighs dramatically, squidging his fingers about in his best impression of Shuri on a science bender. “He’s so little! We left him with our friend, who’s called Sammy as well. Sammy Squared. Do you think that’s funny?”

“A little,” says the man, only a little grudgingly. He pats one of James’ hands on the window. “Why don’t you go back to your car and wait in the back, young man – we’ll wait in here, till the tow-truck arrives.”

“Sweet,” James says, standing up straight as he sees Clint and Wanda darting back into the woods on the other side of the car, Wanda’s red magic barely visible in the dark, when they’re deep enough that baseline humans wouldn’t see.


	4. #orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is brought back in time post-Endgame to fuck things up.

Together, they can do what they want – even manipulate other universes, because they are _from_ other universes. _Time_ glows green, _Power_ mocks her, purple as sin and _Space_ is that same, ethereal blue she has seen so many times before on Earth. _Mind_ is the yellow that used to be in Vision’s forehead and _Reality_ a deep, vicious crimson red.

 _Soul_ is an orange she can barely stand to look at.

Natasha knows what they want to do. Gamora, so young, visits her as their Avatar and tells them their plan, their _boon_ to her.

“You deserve better. There isn’t anything they can do for me,” she says, “because Father never gave it back. But the Avengers gave it back. Soul will be _home_ again.”

“It isn’t already?” asks Natasha.

“Time is relative,” the young Gamora says, smiling sadly, “and she can see far beyond the present. Soul will go back to where she belongs. Now, it’s your turn.”

Their _will_ is awesome and to be feared – and when Natasha returns, she knows they were not being kind or fair. They were not giving her another chance to change the fate of the universe. Gamora told her as such. She did not lie or prevaricate.

“You’re going back to before you met them,” she’d said, “to the very start of what will become the _Avengers_ again. Make sure he never uses us-of-another-universe like that, ever again.”

And so, Natasha finds herself in Budapest, the day before she saw the infamous _Hawkeye_ for the first time.

It has been so long that she can’t remember her mission. _A politician_ , she thinks, _a murder._ Natasha is the Black Widow again, Russia’s best. In another timeline, that would change into _America’s best_ , but Natasha cannot allow that now – not when she knows that Hydra sleeps within the depths of SHIELD and all it stands for. She doesn’t think she can act inhuman again, like she doesn’t care or have anything to care for.

Natasha wants her family back.

She finds Phil within an hour of looking, discovering him in a café with a laptop and an earpiece, as if he’s just any other English businessman. There are two other agents in the vicinity, in the next café along. They don’t see her until she’s already past them and Phil genuinely stares when she sits down in front of him.

“…hello?” he breathes, confused.

“Your agency is compromised, Agent Coulson,” Natasha tells him, “and if it wasn’t, I would defect immediately.”

“Right,” Phil pauses, before pushing his tea in her direction. “Drink?”

The other Natasha wouldn’t have touched it – _Natalia_ wouldn’t have touched it. She might have given him an amused smile. But Natasha of _now_ drinks, reaching out and taking it, leaning in her seat and slouching back. She wants to be on her guard, but she can’t right now. She has to show _trust_. So, she drinks the tea and ignores how the patter in Phil’s ear gets so loud that she can hear the muffled call of his name; forces herself not to react to how the agents next door move abruptly, hovering outside.

“My name is Natalia Ivanovna Romanova,” she said, remembering to change _Alianovna_ to _Ivanovna_ moments before she speaks. The Guardian has called her _daughter of Ivan_ and still, it haunts her – who is she, really? Where does she come from? Those are questions she once asked herself and put to rest, forgetting as time went by, up until that fateful day.

“Phillip John Coulson,” he replies, obviously perplexed. “What do you mean by ‘compromised’?”

“If I told you outright, you wouldn’t believe me and worse, they would know. I have no idea who else is on your team and no way to find out whether they’re on the right side,” Natasha answers. It has been less than an hour since she arrived in this new world and new life; it is important she doesn’t ruin the timeline completely, if she wants to make a difference.

But Phil is important – he has _always_ been important. He was her handler, despite Clint being her recruiter and he knew her darkest secrets and didn’t look down on her. He cared for her, maybe even loved her. Natasha wants him on her side and more importantly, she wants to make sure he knows of the dangers ahead.

“Maybe I’m on the wrong side,” he replies neutrally. Natasha smiles.

“The moment you embody Nazi ideology is the moment Fury tells someone to call him Nick.”

While Phil processes her words, Natasha takes a pen out of her hair, slipping her fake glasses up onto her head to write down several key words. Hopefully, both Phil and Fury will realise the importance of keeping it secret. She hands the scribbled-on napkin over to Phil, who takes it hesitantly. He peers at it.

“‘ _Carol_ ,” he mutters, head tilting. “ _Tesseract. Lehigh. Afghanistan. Stane. Hercules. Asgard. Goose_.’ What are all these supposed to mean?” He meets her eyes, but despite the cool façade, she sees when his interest peaks. Knowledge of the Tesseract is supposed to be need-to-know. What Natasha worries about the most is mentioning Camp Lehigh, where Arnim Zola’s AI lives. The moment they discover the truth, anything could happen.

Oh and yeah, she said the word _Nazi_ a minute ago, when anyone could be listening. Lehigh, Nazi – truly, she makes for a _terrific_ time traveller.

Natasha decides to take her leave then, finishing Phil’s tea and shifting in her seat, motioning him forwards. Unable to help himself, he leans, fidgeting and waiting for the moment she might attack him.

She murmurs, “I’m going after another operative I once knew. If I die in the attempt, watch out for him. Barnes is as strong as his Captain, these days.”

Natasha stands, exiting, glancing at Phil’s stunned face once before she pushes past the other SHIELD agents, hailing a cab. In flawless Hungarian, she gets a ride out of the city, paying the taxi-driver with a punch to the face and petty theft. Her stolen cash is enough to get her a bus ticket to the next town, where she steals a car and drives across Europe, heading to the nearest Hydra bases she can recall.

One by one, she infiltrates and destroys, often leaving dozens of bodies in her wake. Natasha can feel herself getting colder. She has no-one. Not Clint, not Steve, not any of the original Avengers or the later ones. Sam might not be a soldier yet – Wanda and her brother are only children, orphans even.

Remembering Wanda makes her mind freeze and her heart stutter in her chest. Natasha was born decades ago – many more years than her old SHIELD file would suggest – but Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are thirteen years old at this point in time. She wonders when they started hating the world and Stark – when they volunteered for Hydra’s experiments and manipulations.

 _They’re innocent,_ she thinks, making her decision the moment she discovers Barnes’ cryostasis chamber. The book with all of his commands is taken from the corpse of a doctor, paged through and memorised, then burned for good measure. Natasha does not let a single word remain.

Unfreezing Barnes takes time. Natasha lays her hand on the cold glass in front of his face, whispering, “You’ll help me, right? You knew me, once upon a time. I called you _James_ and I was your Natasha. I hope you remember me, later.”

There is a bullet lodged in her arm from invading the facility. Natasha is tending to it when the chamber finally opens with a chilling _hiss_ of air, the Soldier waking with a stagger, dropping forwards onto his knees. There is a dazed look to his eyes and Natasha sees how he tenses, waiting for an opponent that will never come again, if Natasha has anything to do with it. His gaze locks onto her.

“ _Orders?_ ” His Russian is flawless. Natasha wonders if he remembers English, right now.

“ _No orders, except to rest and eat, if you can. I am rescuing you, not enslaving you. Do you understand?_ ”

He hesitates, fear entering the blue of his eyes. “ _Orders?_ ” he asks again, hesitant. His eyes flicker to her arm, then around the room. He physically recoils at the sight of the many bodies decaying on the ground. “ _What happened?_ ”

“ _Me,_ ” Natasha tells him flatly, motioning with her head to a nearby gun. “ _Take that if you feel unsafe. I have a side-arm in reach._ ”

He takes the gun, getting to his feet in a shaky manner. There is a mask around his neck that he unstraps properly, hair hanging loose and grubby around his face. Natasha wonders about the procedures to feed, wash and clothe him. Does the Soldier take such orders? Does someone tend to him when he’s unconscious? Natasha rather doubts the last, placing herself in the situation and betting on said person dying the moment she woke.

“ _What do you want from me?_ ” he asks eventually, hours and hours later. Natasha, having felt reckless and wanting to push the Soldier’s buttons, wakes from a gentle sleep at his questioning. She blinks away the remnants of slumber, getting to her feet and wincing at the lingering pain from her arm. He asks again, “ _What do you want from me?_ ”

“ _For you to remember, James._ ”

“ _Who is James?_ ”

Natasha walks over to where he has been standing, gun held tightly in hand. Her arm rises, fingers brushing his cheek. His stubble has grown in, while he stood watch. Natasha realises that she has no plan for the next decade and a half. In fifteen years, Thanos will invade and she has to prepare the world for that – and all she has done is liberate the Winter Soldier and give two old spies a puzzle.

Her hand falls. “ _I want to tell you a story,_ ” she says, “ _and if you believe me at the end of it, I’d like to ask for your help in making sure that story never happens._ ” Natasha smiles at him, switching to English. “And James is _you_. James Buchanan Barnes, known to Steve Rogers as _Bucky_ , former Howling Commando and Sergeant in World War Two. A sniper and a friend.”

“Steve,” he repeats, voice hoarse and hollow. His eyes screw shut. “Short lil’ punk who can’t keep to himself. Who is he? How do I know him?”

“You were friends,” Natasha says, stepping back. Her heart beats heavily. There are things she barely remembers – things that were taken from her that she never got back. Barnes could be different. “My name is Natasha, _Natalia_ , the Black Widow. We loved each other, once.”

“I- I don’t know,” Barnes says, full of sorrow. He opens his eyes, looking at her. “I know you, but I don’t remember you. My head _burns_.”

Natasha holds her hand out cautiously, not wanting to set him off. “May I help you?” she asks. _Choices_ , she thinks, _make trust._ When he steps back instead, she lowers her hand, returning to her chair. Once she’s sat down again, he stumbles back against the nearest wall, sliding to the ground.

They do not leave the facility for two days. When they finally do, stealing a truck and loading it with supplies, he settles in the driving seat and asks for her story.

“But first,” he mutters, “tell me where to go.”

And Natasha knows that she has already decided.

“Sokovia. We’ve got two kids to find.”

* * *

JARVIS has never received a letter before.

When it comes in, the personnel responsible for delivering mail to various Stark Industries employees tries to figure out who ‘JARVIS ST.’ is, searching for their name in the SI database. They at first type in _Jarvis Saint_ , thinking it an intentional, humorous error on behalf of the sender. When no-one shows up, the two mail-room employees actually type in _Jarvis St._ Yet again, they are met with nothing.

Then they type _Jarvis._

JARVIS himself was at first alerted to the _Jarvis Saint_ search because it included his pseudonym. As an AI, he does not have to divert his full attention to it, his feelers acknowledging the situation and making a note of it. When the search continues however, more of his attention is turned to the search – perhaps he could help. JARVIS has the SI database some deliberate nudges before, when employees are having trouble.

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” one of them shrugs.

“We can’t exactly open it to find out,” the other flips the letter over in their hands, feeling the weight of it and peering at the postage. “Heavy. That’s a European stamp…Sokovia? Does SI have offices in Sokovia?”

 _No, it does not,_ JARVIS thinks. Solutions as to whom the letter is addressed to come up short. There are only two Jarvis’ employed at Stark Industries, neither of which whom work in the US branches of SI. One _Jarvey Right_ works in Washington and _Sarah Jevvie_ was formerly employed in SI as a secretary, before her untimely death in a car crash in nineteen eighty-nine.

Jarvis St.

Metaphorically, JARVIS tilts his head at the name and decides that someone is aware of him. Concluding that _Jarvis St._ is short for _Jarvis Stark_ , he fabricates an email to the head of the mail-room where they are deciding the fate of his letter, instructing them to send said letter straight to Tony Stark himself, using clearance codes that the head of the mail-room is baffled to see.

JARVIS waits until the letter is half a building away from Tony to inform him of the development.

“Sir,” he begins, “a letter is being couriered to you as we speak.”

His creator barely looks up. “Why?” he asks, concentrating on his designs. JARVIS blanks his screens. “Hey!”

“Sir,” he repeats, “a letter is being couriered to you as we speak.”

“Why is a letter being couriered to me? Why am I even getting mail?” Tony fires question after question, looking back to his computer screen. “And why did you get rid of my stuff, J? This isn’t like you.”

“The letter in question, sir, is addressed to _me_.”

There is a long silence as his creator takes that in. JARVIS notes the tension increasing in his shoulders and hands, fists clenching.

“No,” he says, “that can’t be right. To _you_ , J? How? Can’t there be another Jarvis around?”

“I do not believe so, sir.”

When they receive the letter, his creator orders the courier away without even saying thank-you, eyes glued to the various stamps and postal stickers. JARVIS has already tracked it to a small post office on the Sokovian border, though the lack of video cameras connected to the internet makes it impossible for him to track down the sender.

“Got a good look at it, J?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, then – opening it up.”

Inside there are two letters and half a dozen photographs, each with clear, but tiny text on the plain sides. One photograph is actually a postcard, with a picture of which JARVIS identifies as a castle in Sokovia, near the city of Novi Grad.

“What language is this?” Tony mutters, walking over to a table where JARVIS has a high-definition sensor array. His creator lays each and every one of them down, eyes glued to pictures of SI bombs in rubble, unexploded. “Those are fakes. Actual SI bombs explode.”

“Indeed, sir.” JARVIS says, identifying clear patterns in the letters themselves, along with the text on the photograph-backs. “I believe the communications are encoded. I have identified various patterns throughout the texts, though no known cipher has been used.”

“Awesome. Any clues as to what the cipher is or can you work it out yourself, J?”

“I believe I could work it out within five hours, sir, provided the cipher has not already been given to us intentionally.”

His creator catches on, looking to the one item he hasn’t laid out: the envelope. Peering at it, he carefully looks inside and out, a noise of triumph exiting him on discovering something JARVIS cannot see.

“Impressions in the edge!” Tony exclaims, putting it down and smoothing it out, hands arranged around the area JARVIS is meant to scan.

“Impressions received,” JARVIS says, glad to discover that it is indeed a cipher. Using the cipher to decode the letters, he finds himself wondering whether this is someone’s idea of a joke; surely, Obadiah Stane is working for the benefit of his creator, not selling dodgy and prototype weapons on the black market, that would eventually end up being used in Sokovia and other destabilised countries.

Although…his own system analyses previous personality composites of Obadiah Stane and comes to the conclusion that it is more than likely that the sender is correct, even disregarding the evidence they have acquired and/or fabricated.

“This is fucked up,” Tony mutters. “How the hell…” His creator quiets, obviously coming to the same conclusion as JARVIS. “J, start the paperwork to inspect our dud stocks, storage warehouses, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Of course, sir. Inquiries will begin within the month.”

“Make it a week,” Tony orders and JARVIS complies, the best he can.

“Of course, sir.”


End file.
